


Not His

by Resoan



Series: Kinktober Prompts [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 02:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: Loki finds himself wary of Thor's bride-to-be, but as he spends more time in her company, he can't help but fall for her.





	Not His

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks Used: 2+ Penetration, Dub-Con (also with infidelity)
> 
> Set in an AU-Marvel universe where the movies are ignored. 
> 
> Obviously not canon-compliant.

Her arrival on Asgard did not prompt a great deal of enthusiasm from him as it did others of the realm, most notably those who had been interested in tying down the golden prince themselves or who had befriended him long ago when he and Thor had still been boys. The notion that Odin had agreed to an arranged marriage in the first place was curious, even if the All-Father _insisted_ it was for the good of Asgard and that of a neighboring world, Sertol – their once enemies with whom they shared a shaky truce, but shaky it would no longer be, apparently. 

Loki wasn't fooled, though. 

No, the All-Father _always_ had some ulterior motive up his sleeve, some rationale for making every decision he did, especially so when it came to the safety and welfare of his subjects. Odin was difficult to read, however, and while it was always tempting to go to Frigga instead, he knew from years of experience that doing so only ever served to infuriate the king, and as much as Loki could appreciate the interior of a cell in the royal palace's dungeon, freedom was preferable. Not that he couldn't have escaped whenever he had a mind to, of course. 

Perhaps predictably the house of Odin prepared a feast for the arrival of Thor's bride-to-be, though when the Sertollian vessel arrived, it was curiously _not_ a Sertollian woman who stepped out of it with a complement of guards. Her look was wholly different, and when he was introduced to her, Loki couldn't quite hide the curiosity in his gaze, the lack of understanding that pressed him to ask questions he ultimately kept inside. 

It was only during the feast that Loki learned she originally hailed from Midgard, though she'd sounded almost sheepish to inform them that Sertol had all-but-abducted her from her life there. It struck him as rather odd that she didn't resent such a thing; had her life there been an unhappy one, or had she simply possessed ample time with which to come to terms? 

_“She is rather easy on the eyes, eh, Trickster?”_ It had been Fandral who'd noticed him eyeing Amara even still, the food on Loki's plate left mostly untouched. _“Well, don't look_ too _long, or Thor might think your intentions untoward.”_ Loki's eyes had rolled at that, though there was something about her that drew his attention, and he was determined to find out _what_. More than that, the Sertollians were not fools; he supposed it _could_ have been possible they merely wanted to make peace, but it seemed more likely that they had sent this _Amara_ as an emissary to send information on Asgard's defenses and weaknesses. If this were a prelude to war, it was a clever ploy – one that Loki himself might have planned if given half the chance. 

At first, he'd tried to convince himself that had been his only aim in seeking her out that evening after Thor had left her to her own devices – rather rude in Loki's opinion, though she'd assured him she'd practically had to shoo Thor away with promises she would be fine. Already she seemed the doting wife, and Loki only just kept his expression from changing as the taste on his tongue soured, his jaw gritting despite the half-smile he wore. 

He'd not gleaned much from her in that initial conversation, only that she possessed magic he'd been able to sense the moment her ship had landed on Asgard, though she offered little in the way of details; she was clever, her tongue glib, and more than once he'd found himself distracted by the glint of her light green eyes, the color almost seeming to spill over into gold. If she _had_ accepted the arrangement for guile and nefarious schemes, she was an even better liar than he himself; Loki wasn't certain whether to be impressed or wary, and had resolved himself to get to the bottom of things before Thor's marriage was permanent. 

Their time spent together became more and more a habit as the days wore on. She would rise in the morning and spend her days in Thor's company, the pair growing closer and learning more of the other as was undoubtedly expected, though once the sun fell and they parted after supping at Odin's table, they found each other. The first few times had been almost accidental if they hadn't been precisely Loki's aim, though she seemed to seek him out just as readily. Their conversations were long, drawn-out things, filled with curious questions and quiet laughter, and as much as he might have hated himself for it, he felt his guard dropping around her, around the easy manner with which she carried herself. Something about her felt almost magnetic, drawing him closer and never relenting, and it was a first, startled reaction that he realized he wasn't simply spending all this time with her for Asgard's sake any longer – or Thor's. 

She was beautiful, it was true – sun-kissed skin, waves of inky-black hair, high cheekbones, sharp eyes that seemed able to break through every façade he'd crafted to keep her at bay – but it wasn't _just_ her physical appearance he was drawn to. Amara was clever, had even taunted him that perhaps this entire charade was of her own creation, to marry the prince and bear his child, to displace the current leaders and once the babe was born, get rid of the ball and chain and rule Asgard solely. It seemed a malice-filled plan he himself might have been the architect of in another lifetime, but there was curiously little malice in Amara herself. 

She'd revealed more of herself as time passed, though every time seemed to drag with it a certain melancholy that had her gaze falling to her lap, lips pursed as though reliving a painful memory, and quite suddenly Loki felt the need to apologize for dragging her through such discomfort. To learn that not only had her life spanned more time than the All-Father's, but also that she had spent much of said time confined, whether on Earth or on Sertol? He could feel the power she commanded, could sense that it was no slight magic one could simply shrug off; why had she not used it to her advantage? How could _anyone_ have so little care for their own happiness? It boggled the mind, truly, only serving to stoke his curiosity further. 

It also occurred to him distantly that she was still very much tied to Thor, very much tied to the promise to be his wife, and while he'd felt little but apathy and a burgeoning curiosity when she'd first arrived, the thought had begun to chafe as time passed. Thor was no brute, but how could someone like him ever hope to understand all of Amara's complexity, the immense power of her magic, and the quiet melancholy she still held tightly inside of her as though it were a lifeline? He knew, logically, Amara and Thor were to be wed, and nothing he could say or do would alter that already- set course, yet something in him railed against it. 

He couldn't remember what they were talking about that night, could only remember the distinct glow of moonlight on the silk of her robes and the light it reflected in her eyes, and for all his strengths he was but a man. Loki could still remember her gasp as he'd leaned over and claimed her lips for his own, a hand curling deftly through the soft locks of her hair, holding on as though fearful she would pull away and scold him for being so forward or worse yet, back away with her sad smile and remind him that she was his _brother's_. 

Yet, as the kiss lingered she did not recoil. And after pulling away just enough to take a few, sharp inhales of air, Loki wasted little time in continuing, her lips parting for his tongue. The taste of her mouth was heady enough to make him almost lightheaded, though just as she'd begun to respond with equal fervor, she'd flinched away just as he feared she would, eyes wide and rapidly filling with guilt. She said nothing, though the look she offered him conveyed everything, and something hardened in his chest, withering from that single look as she practically fled from him in fear. It hurt to watch her go, as readily as any wound he'd received in battle, and while part of him resented having to do so, he would respect that she was Thor's. Or try to, really. 

He stayed away from her for a time after that, unsure what she now thought or felt, but even after falling back into the same routine, she shied away from him, offering him only the most cursory of glances and perfunctory of smiles when they saw each other at mealtimes. Ignoring how familiar Thor's touches on her person were proved an insurmountable task, however. He'd promptly excused himself when he nearly broke a goblet from gripping it too tightly, though instead of slinking back to his own chambers, he'd perhaps a little deliriously thought it was time he and Amara had a _talk_ about the state of things between them.

It was a little telling that the chambers set aside for her held nothing of sentimental value; had he not known where she was staying, he would have assumed an Asgardian was staying in her room, or perhaps even that it was vacant. He _knew_ he shouldn't have come, shouldn't have let himself into her chamber, but he'd imbibed perhaps a little too much at dinner to try and come to terms with her impending nuptials, and as such he wasn't thinking as clearly as he ought to have been. He settled at one of the small tables in her chamber, the chair he chose facing the door so she wouldn't miss him as she entered, and he had to pointedly set aside the thought that perhaps she and Thor would retire together that evening. 

Loki knew it was a mistake to conjure a pitcher of wine the moment he did it, but it seemed he was full of poor ideas lately, and the thought made him smirk before drinking, eyes narrowed as the alcohol burned the back of his throat. He'd drained his third glass by the time he heard the door creak, a dark eyebrow arching upwards as Amara slid into the room and latched the door behind her before promptly freezing at the sight of him. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, remaining at the doors as though she considered fleeing from him. He frowned at that, setting his emptied goblet onto the table before standing. 

“You've been avoiding me,” he accused her, though there was no harshness in his tone, only a poorly-veiled longing that seemed to bring a flush of pink across her cheeks. “And I thought I would ask why,” he then continued glibly, his lips curling into a lazy, knowing smile as her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. 

“You _know_ why,” she shot back, leaving her safe haven at the door and taking several steps closer. 

“Do I? Please, enlighten me.” The lightness in his tone made it seem as though he didn't care what her answer was, though she narrowed her eyes at him even so, her jaw tightening. 

“Don't play the fool. It doesn't suit you.” A quiet chuckle huffed in the back of his throat at her back-handed compliment, a few pieces of hair brushing his neck as he shook his head. 

“It doesn't, does it?” Loki asked rhetorically, stepping closer and finding himself thoroughly pleased that she did not step back. “Tell me then, what _does_ suit me?” His grin was wide, too wide, though she seemed to recognize the gleam in his eye before he continued. “Ah, well then. Allow me to tell _you_.” His grip on her upper arm was admittedly tight, a defensive maneuver in case she tried to turn tail and run from him, but the kiss that followed was even sweeter than its predecessors, even if Amara tried to wriggle free. “The Lady Amara of Midgard and Sertol, sibyl to your Midgardian deity and soon-to-be wife of Thor Odinson, heir to the lands of Asgard – she suits me _quite_ well, certainly much better than she suits her betrothed.” 

So close he could feel the quickening of her pulse, and he could little help but inhale deeply at the side of her head where the tip of his nose rested in the soft waves of her hair, his hand releasing her slowly; part of him was inordinately pleased that she did not run from him. “Loki...,” he heard her murmur slowly, perhaps even as a warning to stop, though his name on her tongue sent something of a shudder down his spine. He pinned her with a look a moment later, all too happy to devour her lips once more as one of his hands settled at the small of her back, dragging her against him as he swallowed the groan she let out upon the contact. 

She did not push him away, but she likewise kept her hands down at her sides; it might have discouraged him had he not heard the noises she made as they kissed, felt the racing of her heart, saw the blown pupils as he pulled away to study her even as potent heat made it difficult for more complex thoughts. His heart stopped for half a second as the palm of her hand slid onto his chest, though he wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to push him away or anchor herself against him; his arm around her torso tightened defensively, possessively, in case she had a mind to run, though by the time he caught her gaze again it seemed she'd already decided. 

The kiss that followed was...different from the others, mostly because Amara had leaned closer and initiated the contact, the hand previously on his chest sliding up to the back of his neck and holding there. When she pulled back her eyes were wide, though it took Loki several seconds to discern why; she could feel him hard and hot against her thigh, and he could have laughed from the almost-startled look on her face, even if it dissolved into something dangerously resembling desire a moment later. The temptation to tease her, even to tell her to give in seemed needless, and so he guided her back, settling onto a chaise lounge which easily gave way to his back as he eased back onto it. 

He did not even need to _touch_ her to know how aroused she was, her eyes practically glowing as he drank in her form appreciatively; there was no telling if this was something that would occur a second time, and so Loki would try and commit every act, every _moment_ to memory: the softness of her skin, the sinuous lines and curves of her body, the supple heaviness of her breasts... Quite suddenly he decided they were overdressed, and when he began to ease the robes from her shoulder and slide the material of her gown upwards, she did little but arch and lift herself to try and help. He licked his lips unconsciously as the garments fell away from her, Loki unable to suppress the urge to lean forward and drag his tongue across her breastbone, one hand steadying itself at her waist while the other skimmed over the swell of one of her breasts. 

Her back arched sharply at the unanticipated touch, her gasp quiet yet filling the quiet air nonetheless; his cock twitched in his trousers at the sight and the sound and the _feel_ of her, though he smirked at the sound she let out as the tip of a canine grazed over a sensitive nipple. In truth, he would never have enough time to acquaint himself with her body, especially not if her betrothal to his brother remained in-tact, though he _certainly_ didn't want to think about Thor in such circumstances. 

“S-top teasing,” Amara breathed, her eyes shut as she undoubtedly tried to refocus herself. Loki might have teased her more simply to show her how very much he knew she wanted him to, but her hands had begun picking at the fastenings of his trousers, and had already unlocked the buckles holding his cape in place. The ambient warmth of her hands so close to his erection was nearly unbearable, and for a few moments his back stiffened, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and fought to keep air still in his lungs. 

“Someone's eager,” he taunted, the sound of his voice rather ragged and low and making her hands pause, her eyes lifting sharply until they softened at the look on his face. The urge to tell her not to stop came to him slowly even as her hands continued, though it seemed far too vulnerable a thing to say to her and so he kept the urge in check; more than that, her hands had finished their fumbling work – undoubtedly slowed by tremors and her own arousal. He hissed as she gripped him, her fingers tightening until she stroked him and he let out air through grit teeth. Her movements after that passed by in a blur. His clothing had all been discarded, and she remained straddling him, her hips so tantalizingly close to his that he could feel the searing heat from her pussy against his cock, her arousal dripping down onto the tops of his legs. 

_No more waiting_ , Loki thought impatiently, his hands returning to her form and dragging her closer until their lips connected sloppily, his cock dragging hotly against her mound. The contact was electric and delicious, and he groaned at the feel of her, her gasps muffled though doing little but adding fuel to the already-soaring fire within him. She seemed to know what to do next, however, and he was grateful when she lifted her hips just a little higher, Loki's guiding hand easing his cock to her entrance and hesitating only a moment before pressing inside. The constriction alone was dizzying, enough to make him lightheaded, but the pulsing and tightening as she adjusted to his girth was something else entirely, and he greatly enjoyed the expressions on her face as they shifted from euphoria to surprise and back again. 

It was perhaps a dark thought as his hips bucked up into her, repeating the motion in a rather swift pace that had her breasts bouncing just in front of his face, though it would not leave him even after her cries increased in volume. A brief rush of magic followed, and when next she opened her eyes, she would question her sight – for there were now two Lokis where a moment ago there had only been one. “One of my _many_ gifts,” he informed her slyly, breathlessly, a harsher thrust making her groan as the slap of skin on skin echoed in the chamber around them. “I do believe he yearns for your attention too, lady Amara,” Loki continued, purposefully slowing his thrusts until he stilled inside of her, still forcing himself to focus despite how she continued to pulsate around him: trying unsuccessfully to pull him in deeper. 

There was confusion written in her features, a little hesitance, but when he began to shift her on top of him, twisting her until he was facing her back and the clone had rounded the chaise lounge, Loki could feel a rush of new arousal gush down around his cock. “Would you like a taste?” Loki whispered against the nape of her neck, long, elegant fingers brushing her hair away from her skin. “You can imagine we taste the same,” he then added with a smirk, Amara's pulse racing underneath his lips. When the clone came closer as Loki beckoned, Amara breathed in before leaning closer, her hands settling on the clone's hips as her lips parted and her tongue swirled over the head of its cock. Loki couldn't rightly explain why it pleased him so deeply to see her like this, but as she adjusted to the heady, salty taste and began to suck, his pace began to reestablish itself. 

And then, there was suddenly far too much to watch simultaneously. The clone's hips were thrusting wildly, Amara's fingers digging into pale thighs and leaving crescent-shaped furrows as she accepted all he had to give her; her breasts swung pendulously between the pair of them, and her inner walls continued to tighten and loosen around him wildly, her arousal making it easy to thrust himself entirely inside of her. He knew he wouldn't last long at the rate they were going – was mildly surprised Amara had yet to reach her climax as well – and when he felt his end incoming, a crafty hand slipped around her hip and settled between her legs, sliding along the top of her slit before finding what he was looking for. He heard the sound she let out even when her mouth was utterly full, and Loki abused her clit mercilessly until he felt her clamping down around him like a vice. 

By the time Loki came back to himself the clone had disappeared, his body felt boneless, and Amara was slouched where she remained on top of him, his lips tipping up into the barest of smiles at her back. “Amara?” he murmured, his hand settling flat on her belly and dragging her back slowly, Loki wincing as the angle shifted and his cock seemed to pop free of her still-trembling orifice. She did not answer him, though when he caught her gaze, something in his chest swelled to see the soft smile on her lips, and he did nothing to stop himself from brushing a finger down her cheek. Her eyes shut instinctively at the touch, a soft hum sounding in the back of her throat, but however much Loki tried to enjoy the moment, it was always colored by a nagging, little voice that warned him that she was not his.

**Author's Note:**

> OCs mentioned in these works (Amara, Vadne, Ronnie [short for Veronica], Octavia) will be fleshed out more as I go along, but feel free to ask questions if you like. Also, Ronnie and Strange are an established pair in this fic in case that wasn't obvious, as we Thor and Vadne.
> 
> Also, yes, I am aware that Loki's clones aren't corporeal in the MCU.


End file.
